


Fight your fate

by spiffycups



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Cutting, F/M, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-02-19 20:36:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffycups/pseuds/spiffycups
Summary: Where they are soulmates, and there are rules, and they don't like the rules one bit.(TW: Cutting)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anāmikā (coffee_and_cream)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_and_cream/gifts).



> Happy Holidays. This is a special, unprompted gift for Anamika for being such a wonderful person and reliable source of support and inspiration all throughout this year. Thank you for everything! :)

It is one of the oldest rules in the Universe that when any of the primordial atoms meet each other again, the resultant explosion is so forceful that a thousand new galaxies form that minute. 

Baahubali met Devasena and his heart lurched. She set bulls on him and he didn't flinch. The man who took down rampaging elephants let a mildly annoyed bull strike him down, so that she could catch him in her arms.

The first time they held hands, he swore he could see the world clearer, like he had never been able to see before.

The first time she kissed him, he felt the world shimmer around him, portals opening up beside him, the sounds of mighty volcanoes and craters being breathed into existence when her breath ghosted along his lips.

The first time she called out his name, he felt power surge through him, an uncontrollable force of energy that originated from a place more powerful than himself, and dissipate into the air around them. If you had asked him then, he could not have told you what it was, but the million life forms that were born that minute felt the imprint of Devasena's hand on his as a child feels their mother pat them on the head- reassuringly, warmly, cocooning them in safety and happiness.

The first time he made her laugh, Amarendra almost fell over. He did not stop smiling for a week.

There would be a day when the light dimmed or the curtains fell, but it would not be for a long time. They had centuries to go, battles to win, children to raise and conversations to have.

 

\----------

 

Devasena met Baahubali and felt her heart move in ways she hadn't ever felt before. She set bulls on him to make him run away from her, when in truth, she wanted to run from the unaccustomed feelings and the ever-present threat of the smile that wanted to crack her stoic face open.

The first time she caught his hand in hers and raised it up for inspection, she was speaking the words mechanically. All she was really doing was seeing how well it fit in hers, and memorising the lines and colours to recall when she was alone later. Why did she feel she knew him before? Everything about him was suspect.

The first time she darted in and out of his space and made him grasp her face in his hands and kiss her, she wanted to die. The moment was so perfect that nothing would ever compare. If she had to go to war then, she would have, for she felt she had gotten everything she needed in her life.

The first time he put a ring on her finger, she knew she had thought wrong earlier. _This_ was that moment.

He was her first in many ways.

He was the first one to stand up for her.

He was the first one to stand by her decision.

He was the first one to let her walk on him, and later walk by her side, and never walk over her.

He was the first one she loved.

She didn't know he was her destined love every time.

 

\----------

 

There are different ways to have soulmates. Some soulmates experience their bond the same way, and some experience it in polar opposite ways.

Amarsena experienced some of it the same way.

Their first walk through the mountains left them both feeling connected through the earth and into each other's consciousness.

Their first shared meal evoked memories of some long-forgotten picnics from aeons ago in cities that were no longer in history.

Their first word spoken together called up a jinx, but the djinn who owned that jinx had been freed fourteen centuries ago, so the spell was useless.

Devasena read book after book, trying desperately to understand how to become one with his soul, but hit a dead end everywhere.

Bhalla found the answer by chance, and did not know what he was looking for, and ignored it as useless.

Baahubali knew the answer, knew she was searching for it, and did not tell her.

He could not bear to watch her be disappointed in her past self for bartering away their connect for the guarantee of meeting each other in every lifetime. At that time it had seemed a priority, what with the Flood being imminent, but now as he watched her tear her hair out in frustration, he wondered if it would be that tough on their soul to have not met in some lifetimes, and married some unrelated people, and lived as regular humans.

When no one else was around, he was secretly thankful for the fact that she had done it. He did not believe he could survive without her.

 

\-------------

Sivagami had always been his mother. She would always be his mother, and in every single one of her lives, she would do him wrong. 

She had been told this, and she had bartered her later life for the opportunity and ability to redeem herself by reuniting Amarsena. 

It did not save her soul in any way, but it made her feel happier.

 

\-----------

 

Kattappa did not have a soulmate. He would plod through life in every life with his swords and his machines and his masterplans. 

He would have paintbrushes in some lives, pottery wheels in other lives, and axes in yet others.

Kattappa was not an old soul. Amarsena was the oldest nucleus, Sivagami had been created a little later, but Kattappa was still a young one.

All he wanted was to do the most good. He was content with his clanging metals and hot skewered food.

 

(He had had a soulmate. He lied to everyone else. He chose to save him instead, bartering his soul for eternity so that Sulaiman could go to Peace. For that deal, the price had been eternal slavery. Sulaiman did not know. He waited in Peace, with the fading memory of a pair of shining eyes and strong hands. That was the nice thing about Peace. You forgot your soulmate after a few years. With enough time, you could forget all of humanity entirely, just floating around in bliss. Kattappa dredged through each day, only thinking about his love in the recesses of his locked-up heart.)

 

\--------------

 

Sivagami entered into debt. She contracted to end her life shorter than earlier, asking that Kattappa could visit Sulaiman periodically.

The gap between worlds shuddered violently when she cut into her soul, the silver fluid bleeding out as she signed the contract in the precious drops of soul fluid.

When her demon put the arrow in her back, she smiled the tiniest bit, and let her body accept her soul's cry for freedom from the flesh. 

She trudged along, putting the baby to safety and bargaining for even more with her dying breath.

The contract was not sealed. 

 

\--------------

 

Sangha's magic was earthy. She did not believe in drawing soul fluid. She took a sharpened spear head and cut a small slash above her ankle and heard the world's raspy voice talk to her.

"Give me a child. To raise, to protect, to be a mother to."

Three drops of blood, a scar that tied itself around her ankle, and a baby that floated down the river.

 

\-----------

Bhallaladeva had ruined his soul. If he pried it open, he would find it rotten and crumbling. No silver fluid would flow out.

So he pressed his palm against the jagged tips of the crown and drew his own blood.

For souls as corrupt as his, there would be no coagulation by magic. He would have to bandage it himself. He did not care at the moment.

"The crown shall be mine."

A streak of lightning flashed bright, throwing the shadows in stark relief.

"I understand the risks." he growled.

A red drop travelled from his palm atop the crown to the base of the headgear, melding into the metal.

 _Red on gold, dead on the throne._ Bhalla felt the prophecy burning its words into his heart.

 

Sethupathi asked him about it later, months later. "Is it- really worth it, my lord?" his voice quivering, eyes shifting uneasily.

"Death will come any day, Sethu." laughed the King. "I know why I'm dying. Do you?"

"No, my Lord." he bowed and backed out.

 

\---------------

Sethupathi knew why he was dying. He had tried to separate Amarsena.

Bhalla knew why he was dying. He had tried to separate Amarsena.

Sivagami knew why she was dying. She had tried to separate Amarsena. It was a disrespect of a colossal level, so any offers she made after that insult would be impetuously declined by the Universe. She did not know that then. The foolish woman had tried to bargain after committing this atrocity, and paid for it with her life.

Kattappa knew why he would die. He had tried to separate Amarsena. Sivagami's protection shielded him from the worst of it, he would not be punished. He would merely be hurt, and offered the chance to make amends. If he chose to make reparations, he might be forgiven.

 

\--------------

Devasena hurted.

Devasena hunted.

Devasena had the head of her husband's killer sliced off, as he had sliced years off of their lives.

 

\------------

Devasena had heard whispers. Twenty five years was a long time. She had heard whispers of spells, of souls, of trades and cuts and eternal promises.

She had thought hard. Twenty five years was a long enough time to think. 

Under the stealth of night, under the starlit sky, she called upon the Moon, and felt the sky answer.

"I will avenge him, and I will finish my work. But I want him back."

A meteor streaked across the sky.

"Yes, I will follow him anywhere." She could not repeat the question that had been asked of her, she could only feel the conversation happening. But she knew it to be as true as day break and as clear as the sky after a shower.

The stars faded, leaving her sitting in an empty cage under a pitch dark sky.

 

\-------------

 

Every year, he visited her five times.

Once on the day they had split from the atom

Once on the day of his coronation as King Jakamakuta, their single picture-perfect life

Once on the day of the Krishna Pooja,

Once on the day of his choosing,

and once on every day when she could not bear to miss him anymore and she would call out to him.

 

One did not need to be able to see, to see their soulmate.

Devasena went blind slowly, and with each day the world became darker, Amarendra Baahubali became brighter and clearer in her eyes.

Some bargains were worth what you gave up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation:  
> The flood from the Bible, Noah's ark? That flood  
> (Xmas so Christ reference)  
> But they're Hindus so u can replace that with the mathsya Avatar story of losing the world to the divine flood as well
> 
> Some soulmates can feel each other all the time, like you can know/feel your own consciousness.  
> Having the threat of separation looming over their heads because of the Flood, Devasena sold a bit of her soul to get the guarantee of always meeting him. That's why he can experience cosmic ripples after everything she does to him (the kiss etc), but she can't because a bit of her consciousness/soul is gone
> 
> Reg who transacts with these people on behalf of the Universe- there is a Master. I wrote him but later deleted him. He manages the show He represents the universe and it's magic, and talks to people through Nature and natural things like lightning, or the Moon, or blood... Basically things of Nature that humans interact with.
> 
> Deva will follow him into darkness in this lifetime. She only pledged a bit of her soul , didn't carve it out and sell it like before.  
> So darkness for him is death, and darkness for her is blindness. 
> 
> Leave me a comment if you like! :)


	2. Jakamakuta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The backstory on the amarsena soulmates au, with 'that one perfect life'

In the beginning, there was darkness. God was bored, and she created light. Running her fingers through the black void, she pinched and drew forth a long string of shimmering opacity, made of nothing, weightless and untethered.

She ripped it apart and flung it into opposite corners of the universe she had created. That was the first day they separated from each other.

 

 

God was never kind, but she was always curious to see what would happen in chaos. And thus Jakamakuta was born. His soulmate, his void-companion was born not far from the country, a child of glowing eyes and pitch dark hair, born Mohini. Being "friendly" nations, their respective families required they publicise the amicable relationship between the allies, thus Mohini and Jakamakuta practically grew up together, knowing nothing but each other's company. 

"And thus defeated, the Makuta kingdom goes to Mohini the Conquerer!" announced the determined girl from where she stood above him, foot on his chest, sword pointed at his heart.

"All hail Mohini!" agreed Jakamakuta with a sappy smile on his face. He was slowly coming to the realisation that if she chose to marry someone else and move away, he would crumble and die.

"Fair competition though you may be, no one is better with a sword than me." remarked Mohini cockily, sheathing her sword.

"The Princess has two god-given advantages- beauty and poetry." He smiled at her, admiring the way the sword rested heavy against her hip, the stray strands shaken loose from her braid framing her face, the long saree tied billowy around her legs, her face flushed from the exertion. He could sniff the fading scent of the day's jasmines garlanded on her hair and the ever-present scent of turmeric on her hands. "Beauty to capture the eyes, poetry to capture the heart."

Mohini stood startled, frozen for a moment before frowning deeply. "Why do you speak like a suitor?" she asked.

He shook his head, curls blowing in the wind as his smile spoke volumes. Turning away, he picked up his sword from where it lay five paces away, and walked back to his side of the city.

 

They had a very simple engagement, but then again, the world had known they would be together. It was merely an event to announce the wedding date. 

Sticking to tradition, they were engaged a year. During that time, they each went on a campaign around the states, learning how to traverse the nation alone with no entourage and no companion. Returning to each other's arms after five months of separation was more an emotional affair than it was a societal event when the crowd looked the other way as they held each other like the other was something sacred.

Then they traveled to the war-torn, famine-struck villages of nations far beyond, taking medicines and provisions with them, soliciting the help of rulers of state-nations along the way. They came back wiser, calmer, with more maturity than they had when they left. 

The wedding was as grand as the engagement was quiet. It was a four day fest, waking up with music, archery competitions in the mornings ("show off", she rolled her eyes; "you wish you were as good as me" he winked), prayers stretching into the afternoons, lunch and siestas (letting the tired palace sleep, they snuck off to the riverbank, sitting with their legs in the water, talking about everything and nothing, sometimes sitting in silence for the whole time), and the evenings were Thiruvizhas, festivals for the whole city, the capital bedecked in all her glory, the setting sun giving way to the massive street torches lighting up the joyous crowds, with the nights ending in feasts and dancing.

" _I have seen the world alone, and I have seen the world with you. I know this to be fact, that we are greater together._ _Standing on holy_ earth _, with the_ air _in our lungs, under the vast_ sky _, bathed in blessed_ water _, I swear on_ fire _to hold your hand in mine for this life and every life after_." They had practiced saying this enough times in private that the words came out high and clear even though their throats closed up in emotion. 

The people rained down flowers- jasmines, chrysanthemums, holly, roses, lotus petals and tulsi leaves, and the children leaped in joy, hands stretched out to touch the happiness in the air.

 

Mohini was a fair queen, strong and brave. When Jakamakuta left the nation to visit their allies, she ruled well and without prejudice. When Mohini left to negotiate with other nations, Jakamakuta was often lost. He ruled well as a king, but with sundown he would sit cross-legged on the floor of the tallest turret, gazing into the distant horizon from where she would return. It was a royal secret that he cried every night she was away, and his entourage could offer no solace through music or art that pacified his aching heart.

The next time Kopalanadu asked to meet Mohini, she gave him a mirror before leaving the palace. "Look into this. Look into your own eyes, seek me in your heart." Kissing him softly on the forehead, she cupped his face in her hands and held him close. "When you need me, look into this."

He barely lasted three nights before he felt a tear start to form in his eyes. Ravaging through the mess-strewn room (no one was allowed into his chamber when his queen was away, and that bar did not excuse even the cleaning ladies), he uncovered the treasured glass underneath the saree she had worn before leaving to go to Kopalanadu.

Taking it to the balcony, he stood under the moonlight and stared deep into the mirror, not knowing what he would find but trusting his wife to engineer some marvel. He gazed long and hard, summoning up all his heart's wanting into his eyes, until he finally fell asleep on the cold floor, shivering under the dew. He woke up in his wife's warm embrace. 

"You came back." he murmured, snuggling into her warmth, sighing deeply. "You came back to me."

"When do I not?" she whispered into his hair, stroking his back softly.

 

A few years later, they had a daughter. She was precocious and compassionate, skilled in fighting and music. Seeing her potential, Mohini soon persuaded Jakamakuta to give up the throne to their child. Vaishali took up the mantle with grace, deferring to their wisdom when needed and holding her own ground when she felt it right. Thus at three and fifty years old, Vaishali's parents retired from their duties, moving into a cozy cottage in the woods close to the riverbank.

They had enough vigour in their limbs to climb trees in the summer plucking mangoes, legs dangling off the sturdy branches; they ran down the hills racing each other with their laughter tinkling high and sonorous; Mohini let him braid her hair and on quieter evenings they put down their books (the single possession they had carried with them from their palace) and to the music of the birds in the forest, they danced slowly, moving against the soft earth, hand in hand. He held her close, grasping her by the waist, while she leaned her head on his chest listening to the steady thump of his heart lull her into silence.

Vaishali visited them every pournami, and the small family sat under the moonlight eating coconut rice and jaggery-sticky pongal, taking turns to tell each other stories. They visited the city every fortnight, teaching the children the skills of sword-fighting and archery, watching the graduating classes debate philosophy and morality, watching their people live their lives. One day Jakamakuta asked, "Should we return to the city? They do seem to need our help."

Taking a deep breath, Mohini let the moment pass, listening to the newly appointed scholar expound his theory of law. She said, "We left because the kingdom is in capable hands. If you wish to be with the people, I will return with you. If you wish to stay in our home, I will stay with you." 

In the end, they did live in their little home, watching their daughter reign with a good heart and a firm hand, and giving their blessings to her marriage, watching their grandchildren learn their way through life. It was an idyllic life, with happiness in good measure and a loving family and a fond people. It was the life they deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave me a comment!


	4. Chapter 4

Kattappa grew up with one aim. He had had his eye on a boy, and by God, he would end up with him. He walked with Sulaiman to school, chatting away about everything and nothing, singing him poems that made the other boy blush, and cooking him exotic foods that were a treat to the tongue.

Sulaiman was almost nineteen, and he had not been as certain of anything as he was of his lover. They slept together under the starry skies, went on treks to the mountains and peeked down the waterfalls, and took their love for each other very seriously. He had never been so happy.

When his parents asked them about marriage, Kattappa smiled and shook his head no. "I want to bring him a gift, and ask for his hand. I shall impress him, win him over." The old couple smiled in understanding.

Sulaiman for his part could not wait to be married, and nagged his boyfriend about it every week. They would be on a walk to the river to haul water back. With his pot balanced on his head, he would bow gracefully, and ask. When they were in the midst of making lunch, and Kattappa couldn't resist stealing a bite from the steaming pan, he would ask. When Kattappa bandaged him up after a particularly brash sword practice session, he would ask. The tone never varied, the volume never varied. His smile would etch deeply into his cheeks, he would lick his lips, eyes glassy with happiness, and say, "Marry me." He would ask a million times. 

 

Kattappa laughed the first time he had asked, when they were barely fifteen, and sweaty and tired after a long day of hauling rocks, both of them sitting legs splayed on the green grass of the fields, hiding from their master. "You can't be serious!" he had said, laughter stopping nervously when he looked really hard at Sulaiman's face- an expression that could be interpreted as nothing but love. "You can't want me!" he had argued. "I'm a common slave and a poor boy to boot!" he had repeated.

"I could not care less about all that. You have your heart to give, and I want it." Sulaiman's demands were always heart-wrenching. "You promised me you would give me what you could. You can give me your heart." He did not know anymore if he was pleading or ordering. He rushed on, not caring what Kattappa thought of his angry tears. "They own your body and mind, but I can still have your heart. Will you give me it?"

Kattappa's knees gave way. He knelt on the ground, looking up at the man who was staring at him defiantly, angrily, and said, "My soul is yours if you want it."

"Marry me." It was only the second time he asked, and Kattappa's heart wanted to tear itself out of his body. It was the second time he said no.

 

\---------------

 

They moved on from hauling rocks to welding iron, to sharpening metal, to the fine arts of pottery. The squadron leaders all knew of the boys, and made sure to put them together on jobs. They suspected they might not be suited for guard duty, but the men were not prone to shirking duty and spending nights on duty staring into each other's eyes, so over time they were commended for their excellent skills and it was a relief to their commanders that they could be professional when it was needed.

So it was that when they were accompanying the young princess Sivagami on a hunt that a soldier let loose an arrow into her shoulder instead of the deer, and Sulaiman grabbed it out of thin air before it hit her. He dropped it on the ground harmlessly, turning back to the terrified man and frowning. Kattappa rode forth to the man with a spear held against the man's neck. They rode back to the palace, the traitor sandwiched between Sulaiman and Kattappa on his horse.

Sivagami, after executing the traitor, called for the soldiers who had saved her life. Both men washed themselves thoroughly- it would not do to stink in front of royalty- and presented themselves, bowing courteously. 

"A reward for my life." she announced happily. "Anything you want, man, it is yours."

Sulaiman smirked, straightening up. "What I want is not in your power to give. But thank you, Princess." His face was just the right mixture of melancholy and wistfulness that Sivagami's anger was quelled.

She raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. Sulaiman sighed deeply. Kattappa went red.

Sulaiman gestured to Kattappa's six foot form. "I want this man to marry me."

Sivagami couldn't stop a small smile breaking her demeanor. "And what of it?"

"He belongs to the State. If you could recommend my case, it might be helpful." Sulaiman sighed again, eyes twinkling, as he looked down at the floor to hide his smile.

"Kattappa, do you want to marry him?" she asked.

He nodded helplessly.

"He wants to marry you. This seems to be a good arrangement. Why don't you marry him?"

He shrugged helplessly.

She looked from Kattappa to Sulaiman back and forth- between the towering man cowering before her, and the sprightly man a half-foot shorter than him bursting with energy. "It seems we are at an impasse. Well then, I suppose I can -" she looked to the ministers for advice and received none. "I promise to bless this wedding if it happens, and, you- I recommend you marry him." she wagged a finger at the suffering soldier. 

\---------------

 

"I have asked you thrice already" complained Sulaiman. They were spread out on the floor of his house, fanning themselves with a bamboo handfan. Hearing no response, he rolled over. "It is getting slightly irritating." he muttered.

Kattappa dabbed at his eyes, breathing deeply. He waited for his voice to steady up. "Not until I give you your gift." Sulaiman snored in response.

 

\---------------

 

He was awoken even before dawn. He tried to open his eyes, groggy with sleep that clung onto him like a sloth. "Wake up!" whispered Kattappa urgently. Rubbing his eyes, he took note of his marching clothes, the bag strapped onto his back and the matching set that was laid out on their bed. He sat up, wondering what madness now possessed his lover.

"Wake up and run away with me." Kattappa's eyes shone bright in the dark space. Sulaiman could not scramble fast enough to his feet. Within a minute he was at the door, tying his satchel on hastily. They ran to the very border of Mahishmathi, miles and miles of quiet ground under their thumping feet, the sweat trickling down their backs, eyes shiny with joy and the occasional tear on Sulaiman's face. They reached the waterfall, panting and bent over, hands on their knees.

Kattappa caught his breath first and stood up, mouth open but words forgotten in the stunning image of the sun rising over the waterfall and beaming on Mahishmathi. They turned as one, in the silent aura of the dawn, to look at their city as the sunrays reached across the darkness to extend over each street, each lane, lighting up the houses and waking its people.

Kattappa turned to look at the love of his life, and he could swear his heart sang at the wonderment on his lover's beautiful face. Those sharp cheekbones highlighted in relief, the twisted nose from the many boxing sessions, the thick curly black hair that twisted itself into knots, his bushy eyebrows and dark beard against his dark skin- the features that he had spent twelve years looking at, and would never tire of.

He steered Sulaiman by the shoulders and turned him around to face him. Taking a deep breath, he looked into his eyes and got overwhelmed by the sheer joy that radiated, the beginnings of a tear, the smile that he couldn't- didn't want to- stop, and found that he did not in fact need to say anything. He hugged him close, stroking his hair.

"Mine."

Sulaiman did not ask that day. They were twenty five, and Kattappa had just promised his heart to him. He could wait now.

\---------------

 

Kattappa stole away in the dead of the night to the forest. His link to his soul was earthy. He needed the soil under his feet, the smell of petrichor, and the cracks of the parched rain-starved mud, to properly let go of his sense of body, and let his soul guide him. He stripped off his shirt, rolling his shoulders and cracking his fingers. Kneeling, he swiped up a strip of soil with his index finger and held it to his chest, breathing deeply with his eyes closed until he felt nothing but the single point of consciousness of the soil between the skin of his chest and the skin of his hands.

He focused on the soil, the brown mud that was layered with the top soil's fine sand, the fragrance of growth and death, the unity of constancy and the feeling of being home.

He felt his flesh fade away and the massive consciousness of his soul take over. He thought about Sulaiman, the way he had looked that morning with the sun on his face and the waterfall resounding under his feet, and felt a wave of affection rise. Holding on to that feeling of love, he called out, and felt the answer.

"I want him to be happy forever." He couldn't feel his body, but he felt he was smiling. The old gods asked him what he would be willing to pay for it. "Whatever is necessary."

The subsequent silence chilled him, a feeling of a coldness creeping up on him. He felt the question in his mind. He did not even have to think about it. "Of course." They cut into his soul, branding his name and fate with their stamp, a weight of an eternity sealed to his soul, the chains of eternal bondage around his entire consciousness.

Sulaiman slept on peacefully while Kattappa screamed in anguish in the deep quiet of the forest, crying from the heat and pain of the links tying around his soul.

\---------------

 

He woke him up the next day again. Sulaiman smiled sleepily up at him. "I've already seen the sunrise, love" he said.

"No, today is not about that. I wanted to ask you a question yesterday, but I got distracted by your beauty." He stroked his face lovingly. "Let me ask you it today."

Sulaiman blushed and sat up, throwing away the blankets in their already-messy house. "Why are your feet dirty?" he asked, yawning.

"Had to go out and set things up so we can go now." Kattappa smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead, standing up. "Now let's get going."

They made their way to the waterfall again, to find Sivagami Devi already standing there. The men stopped short, looking from her to each other. They bowed and waited for her to explain.

"Well then, I heard a marriage is happening here, I came by to see if I could nick any wedding food." Her exuberance shone through, face alight with smiles. 

Kattappa wanted to slap himself. He turned to Sulaiman with a face threatening to break into sobs. "I forgot to bring food", he whispered.

His disappointment was deep, and it broke Sulaiman's heart. He turned quickly to the princess and said, "Regimental orders are to only eat the palace food, princess, we cannot eat wedding food. It is a risk of poisoning. Therefore, you cannot have any either, we are very sorry." He was about to be married, he did not have time to feed hungry bratty princesses.

Sivagami grinned back, her immature teenage face stretching around the smile. She waved behind them and their platoon of brothers leaped out from their hiding spots with howls and whoops of joy. "Not to worry, I brought my cooks along." The men ran up to the grooms, slapping them on the back, embracing them and kissing their faces.

They were married amidst all their friends, their found families, with their parents looking on in contentment, and their wedding was officiated by the princess.

 

\---------------

They lived for years, fighting side by side in war, challenging each other to grow, to excel, to aim better.

They cooked together, and starved together when in battle. They kissed in the mornings and bickered in the afternoons, and kissed again at night.

They made fun of each other's bald spots, and Kattappa lost many a night worrying over his balding head, until finally Sulaiman yelled at him to understand that he had waited ten years to be married to him and would not be leaving him over a few lost hairs.

They had various dogs and cats, running with them in the training grounds and stealing their food. They tried to raise birds for a while but it was not to be.

The years brought famine, war and earthquakes. They sat closely huddled against each other, watching their home shake and flood and heat up, and felt a little comforted by the other person sitting with them.

The years also brought Spring, festivals and Sulaiman's nieces- stubborn babies who kicked them in the face and grew up to be women who brought them breakfasts and snacks and rant advice at the men who they had for years thrown up on. Kattappa never spoke, he stared in rapture at their animated faces, grinning a little loopily and nodding along to everything they said. He never did what they told him to do, by virtue of the reason that he never paid enough attention when they were around, but he tried his best. They could ask him for the moon and he would set up a ladder.

Sulaiman shook his head and wagged his finger- "You're the sole reason they are so disobedient." 

"They take after their mama, and frankly," Kattappa hugged him from behind as he stirred the soup, "you turned out well enough."

 

\---------------

Old age came for Sulaiman, as it did for everyone. He watched every day as Kattappa threw axes with unerring accuracy, ran miles without stopping for breath, and bent over backwards for Baahubali. He wondered how he did it, while he himself grew tired by sundown and his muscles cried for rest. He never thought to ask, just assuming that his husband was not showing it.

One evening he knew, and he called Kattappa. 

"What is it, husband?" Kattappa had a smile on his face.

Sulaiman drew a deep breath. "I'm going to go now."

His face shattered into fear. "Going where?" he whispered.

"I'll go to Allah tonight, my love. I can feel it."

"No, no, that's not- I won't allow-" Kattappa was going to cry.

"It's not about you allowing it. I can hear the call, and I will have to go." He wiped away the tears with his thumb, holding his face close. "You are a good man. You brought me so much joy." His voice was about to crack with emotion. He stopped and inhaled, forcing his throat to swallow.

"Sulaiman, why- why do you leave me- stay-" sobbed Kattappa, hiccuping

He chuckled lightly, eyes never leaving his husband's. "Promise me something." 

"Anything!" cried Kattappa.

"Marry me." Sulaiman burst out laughing, the tears shining unshed in his eyes. "Stay with me; marry me. Wait for me." 

Kattappa fell to his knees and put his head in his husband's lap. "Forever. With you."

Sulaiman made him climb up on the bed with him. He dragged the blanket over them. Stroking his back slowly, he murmured, "We've been happy, haven't we? Yes, we've been quite happy. You've made me happy, love. You made me happy."

Kattappa nodded, sniffling into his shirt. "As did you." He hastened to assure him. "You were the best husband I could ask for. You gave me so much. You made me laugh, you held me close when I was sad, and you cured me when I felt sick. You did so much good to me."

"I want you to be happy even after I'm gone, Kattappa." Sulaiman said it in a way that sounded like an instruction, and Kattappa smiled inwardly. Only his demanding, entitled husband could make even a promise sought on his deathbed sound like an order.

They were silent for a time, listening to the rise and fall of their chests, their breaths in sync, until only Kattappa's chest rose again. He saw his husband's chest stay flat, and shuddered, crying into his still-warm clothes. 

He had to tell him. "My only gift to you, be in Peace forever." he wrangled the words out of his throat from where they were caught between his tears. "The only secret I kept from you, and I tell you now in case you can still hear me. My love, I loved you so much." He cried into his husband's chest, shivering in his grief. "Now go, go and leave me alone. Go on."


End file.
